


Strange Tastes

by pherede



Series: Livewrites [4]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body Contrast, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherede/pseuds/pherede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the eyes of the dwarves, Thranduil-- with his alien features and his freakishly long limbs-- is hardly a creature to be desired. A smut snippet written for a livewrite prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Tastes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Необычные пристрастия](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035333) by [Toshirei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshirei/pseuds/Toshirei)



Thorin has never seen anything so strange, so alien; and he has seen all manner of things, crystals from the deepest parts of the earth, beasts of cave and sky and field, treasures wrought by hands well-learned at the forge of Aule himself. He cannot imagine anyone hungering for what he is seeing now, hairless and smooth, lithe with muscle where Thorin is broad and strong, beardless and exposed. Thranduil is colorless, freakishly tall and elongated, like a sapling struggling to grow in the dark, with a voice devoid of tone and a face like a doll’s.  
  
These are the things Thorin tells himself as he kisses that white neck, as Thranduil’s careful composure dissolves into small sobbing breaths, as Thorin’s heavy cock drags along Thranduil’s belly (because he cannot kiss that throat and settle his weight along that slim pale-rose upcurved length, because Thranduil is so tall, because Thorin is built as a man-- as a _dwarf_ \-- is meant to be built). He knows that by all his standards this creature beneath him is unattractive, an interesting piece of abstract statuary; but his body responds with such fervor to every languid touch, and Thorin is at heart a pragmatist, and beside this outflung shape of ivory skin Thorin feels stronger, stouter, a mighty conqueror having his way with a noble helpless captive even though they both know they have each come to this bed independently.   
  
Thorin lowers himself until his face is lying along Thranduil’s breastbone, and his body is so broad above Thranduil’s slim frame that he fears for a moment to crush him; but when their cocks are trapped between and Thranduil gives a roll of his hips, they are both set to gasping with the shock of such intense pleasure. Thorin grips Thranduil by the arms, mighty fingers digging into soft skin, and with the solid weight of himself-- thighs burdening thighs, forehead pressed to the divot of Thranduil’s clavicle, muscle and sinew bearing Thranduil’s body to the earth-- he holds them both steady as he thrusts.  
  
His face grows dark, and his thick cock leaves faint wet smears on Thranduil’s belly, only slightly shorter than the Elvenking’s own but far, far thicker; someday, he swears to himself, they will have time for more, for him to prepare Thranduil properly and press into that body entire, to feel those long strange-smooth legs twist and twine about him as he thrusts into tight muscle. For now, it is enough to watch Thranduil arch beneath him, to see long hair like gold bleached in the sun arrayed across his coverlet, to feel the might and solidity of his body so perfectly complemented by the fragility and slow-breathing etoliation of Thranduil’s unnatural frame; to feel his own hair rough against that skin, hard interface of bone and ligament tensing and releasing over muscle-shapes that are somehow soft and sleek even when Thranduil tenses beneath him and spasms and curls up in agony as he comes-- to feel the difference between them as Thranduil falls fluttering and gasping, as if his orgasm is a torment borne by force of will, while Thorin spends against him with a shout of victory, burning in his flesh and fierce with punishing snaps of his hips, toes clenching and uncurling against Thranduil’s slack and trembling calves.


End file.
